


The Pains of Parenthood

by Cydersyrup



Series: Mad Intelligence [8]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Crack, Drinking to Cope, Drunken Shenanigans, Family Dynamics, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, all the senior agents get wasted, and then they have to show the newbies around, everyone's just being good drunk parents here, how to welcome new people into the dysfunctional family: a process, the kids are the only sober ones up in this bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27775891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cydersyrup/pseuds/Cydersyrup
Summary: Johnny points at the blue, fizzy drink Taeil’s leisurely sipping at the conference desk. “Hyung, what is that?”“Adios, motherfucker.”“Okay, I was just asking a question. No need to be so rude this early in the day,” Johnny grumbles as he takes his seat.Taeil laughs. “No, it’s what I’m drinking. This is a cocktail, unironically named ‘Adios, motherfucker’.”Johnny checks his watch with a frown. “Hyung, it’s ten in the morning.”“And we’re getting new blood, who WE have to show around soon. So state your case, Johnny.”
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Nakamoto Yuta, Lee Taeyong/Qian Kun
Series: Mad Intelligence [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715650
Comments: 146
Kudos: 302





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the 8th installment of my agent au!! And hear me out, y'all. Have you ever considered how the absolute hell the parent line manage to look after their horde of kids? Much less having to take in 2 more? I thought about it at 2 AM, and it led me here. So behold, how to properly adopt new kids, NCT-being-absolutely-done edition. <3

When Johnny enters the conference room in the Seoul headquarters, the last thing he expects is to see Moon Taeil sitting there, a tall glass by his side and scanning over an open file.

“Hyung?” Johnny calls, and drops immediately into a bow when Taeil lifts his head. “Pardon the interruption, but what’re you doing here?”

Taeil shoots the North American director a wry smile. “I work here, Johnny.”

Johnny chuckles at the lighthearted jab. “I know that. I mean, you don’t usually attend these inter-branch meetings. What’s the occasion?”

“Something very important for all of us.” Taeil picks up the glass by his side and sips it slowly as he drops his head back down to focus on the files before him.

Johnny points at the blue, fizzy drink Taeil’s leisurely sipping at the conference desk. “Hyung, what is that?”

“Adios, motherfucker.”

“Okay, I was just asking a question. No need to be so rude this early in the day,” Johnny grumbles as he takes his seat.

Taeil laughs. “No, it’s what I’m drinking. This is a cocktail, unironically named ‘Adios, motherfucker’.”

Johnny checks his watch with a frown. “Hyung, it’s ten in the morning.”

“And we’re getting new blood, who _we_ have to show around soon. So state your case, Johnny.” 

Ah. That explains a lot. Johnny nods in sympathy and doesn’t say anything else. Not like he could, anyway. Showing newbies around never was his responsibility, even back in the States. It’s not the most glamorous part of the job, and usually taken on by his subordinates, but somehow, Taeyong managed to push this responsibility to Taeil of all people.

“Where’s your husband, Johnny?”

“Ah, Jae?” Johnny cracks a small smile and checks his watch again. “He’ll be a bit late. He just returned home from Rio early last night, so I’m letting him sleep in a little.” He turns his head to look at the otherwise empty room they’re in. “Where’s everyone else?”

“They’re coming, don’t worry,” Taeil says softly as he shuffles the papers he’s looking at back into their files. “In the meantime, can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?” He smiles, the expression calm and blissful and setting Johnny’s nerves on edge. “Liquor?”

“Erm…coffee is fine, thanks hyung.”

Taeil hums and stands from his seat, making his way to the little refreshment corner of the room, complete with a refrigerator and a full-sized bar. While he sets some coffee to brew, the doors open once again, and in steps Doyoung and Yuta. They both pause when Johnny and Taeil turn to look at them, and drop into a synchronous bow.

“Director Moon, Director Seo.”

“Hello Agents Kim and Nakamoto,” Taeil greets. “Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

Doyoung and Yuta straighten up, exchanging a brief glance before Doyoung answers. “Thank you, sir. Would you like some help?”

“That’s kind of you to offer, Agent Kim,” Taeil says as Doyoung joins him to set up the drinks. “Will the other senior agents be joining us soon?”

“Most, sir.” Yuta makes his way around the table and sits a respectful distance from the directors. “Sicheng is on his way up with Ten and Jungwoo as we speak.”

As if on cue, the doors open again, and the three aforementioned men enter. Jungwoo is smiling brightly and holding his trusty tablet in hand, shirt tucked in neatly into his gray slacks and a black silk tie pressed under a paisley waistcoat. Ten and Sicheng on the other hand, are looking haggard—hair in their faces and both wincing at the bright lights. Their clothes are a bit rumpled around the edges and there’s what looks strangely like pen ink staining Sicheng’s fingers bright blue.

“Holy mother of mackerel, can the Lord shine a little dimmer today?” Ten groans, shielding his eyes from the glare of the ceiling lights as Sicheng staggers to an open seat.

Johnny quirks a brow in question, trying his damnest to not burst out laughing at the two agents’ appearance. “Sicheng, Ten, what happened to you?”

“Before anybody assumes, we’re not hungover,” Ten says, making a beeline over to the bar and ducking under Doyoung’s arm. “But give me twelve hours. I’ll get there.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’m nowhere near drunk enough to be answering any questions right now,” Ten replies, popping open a bottle of rum and pouring it expertly into a tumbler along with other liquids that Johnny can’t quite make out. He almost forgot Ten took up a bartending gig as a cover a while back. And from the looks of it, the knowledge he gained during that mission hasn’t failed him yet.

Johnny chuckles under his breath and turns to Sicheng for an answer, but the other man is fast asleep, head pillowed on his bent arm and soft snores muffled into the fabric of his shirt.

“What the…”

“They’ve been working ‘round the clock for Director Qian and the Chief Director’s wedding anniversary,” Jungwoo stage-whispers from across the table, even going as far as cupping his hand by his mouth. “I should know. I stayed up with them looking up restaurants and trying to book hotel reservations somewhere decent in the world.”

Johnny blinks. “Since when did you all become their personal event planners?”

“I’m the secretary here, it’s my job,” Jungwoo says proudly. “As for the other two, I have no idea. Director Qian probably just set them up for it because he trusts them.”

Even for someone who’s possibly pulled as many all-nighters as Sicheng and Ten, Jungwoo looks immaculate. Maybe it’s just the fact that he’s a morning person, or maybe he’s simply reached the point of a psychotic break. And considering that he answers to both Taeyong and Taeil on the daily, Johnny’s willing to bet his life savings on the latter.

“It’d be nice if Kun-ge and the chief can stop dragging us into their domestic affairs though,” Ten groans, plopping down next to Jungwoo with a tall glass of a light amber concoction in one hand and a martini glass full of a pink liquid in another. “First, we all almost die in their lover’s spat. Now, we’re pulling all-nighters being their personal anniversary planners? What a world.” He brings forth the martini glass and downs the entire thing in one go.

Johnny watches Ten drink with fascination, only slightly worried for the other’s liver. He would stop the Thai agent from destroying himself completely, but Ten looks very content on getting wasted as fast as humanly possible, and honestly, Johnny understands his sentiment. He’s dealt with his own fair share of Taeyong and Kun over the years. Any event requiring the two of them to be together is automatically worthy of a couple drinks on the behalf of every other poor soul involved.

And somewhere in the back, Taeil must’ve read his mind, because he comes back holding a tray with an assortment of cocktails on it, stopping by every agent present to allow them to take their pick. Doyoung and Yuta each take a shot glass of liquor. Ten helps himself to a mimosa and a margarita. Jungwoo thanks the director as he picks up a mandarin daiquiri. Sicheng gets a pretty mojito slid over by his unconscious head. 

“And of course, your favorite,” Taeil says, setting a rather large martini glass filled with a rich, frothy drink before Johnny. “Espresso martini.”

“You know me too well, hyung,” Johnny grins, raising the glass to his lips and taking a careful sip. “I didn’t even know we had all the stuff to make these here.”

“When you work with Taeyong, you learn to keep the bar well-stocked, always,” Taeil says sagely, sipping his own blue monstrosity. “Speaking of whom, when will he be coming? He should be the first to greet our newest agents before we show them around.”

“Those poor fucking kids,” Ten sobs into his mimosa, already half past tipsy. “They can’t die here! It’s almost the holidays too! They’re just kids! Lord have mercy on them, they’re just babies!”

“He and Director Qian might swing by once the company of interest arrives,” Jungwoo notes calmly, taking a classy sip of his drink as he types away at this tablet with the other hand. “Last I checked in on them, they were both preoccupied in Chief Director Lee’s office.”

Taeil stiffens in his seat, the memories from almost a whole year ago burning in the back of his one functioning retina. "They aren't—"

"They _are_."

“Oh _god_ ,” Ten wails, shooting up from his seat and abandoning his empty glasses for the bar again. “I don’t wanna know. I don’t wanna hear it! I’m still sober enough to understand Korean, _why_ am I still sober enough to understand Korean?”

“Even if you end up not understanding Korean, you do realize all of us here speak at least three languages, right?” Yuta quips from a couple seats down.

Ten cries louder as he starts downing vodka shots without even leaving the bar.

“While I don’t condone drinking on the job,” Doyoung states, tossing back his shot and stacking his glass with Yuta’s already-empty one. “Alcohol is an excellent salve to our collective emotional pain.” He turns to Taeil, expression dead serious. “Permission to get shit-faced in preparation for the trauma we will have to endure in approximately fifteen minutes, sir?”

Taeil waves at the bar. “Permission granted.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this whole thing while memorizing tissue layers of the digestive system and that is a whole new world of pain. Nobody should have to memorize that shit sober. (T^T)

Fifteen minutes and almost three bottles of liquor later, Taeyong and Kun finally show up, looking completely normal for the most part. The only indication of any indecency on them is the _smell_. 

Doyoung may be halfway to wasted, but he’s honed his senses enough over the course of his career to detect and recognize several different scents to an almost canine degree. There’s regular-people smell, and there’s blood and poisons, then there’s the exquisite aroma of post-coitus ad opus. 

No amount of expensive cologne can ever mask something like _that_.

Ten must’ve noticed it too—that, or he’s just really, really drunk—because he lets out a sound hauntingly similar to a shrieking quokka and brings out a whole bottle of rum from under the table. Taeyong’s eyes widen impossibly as he watches the Thai agent pop the cap off the bottle and start drinking the liquor straight.

“What in the name of—what _happened_ here?” the chief director asks, gesturing at the table full of glasses in various stages of empty and a sobbing Ten chugging rum like he’s Jack Sparrow.

“Sir,” Doyoung says, standing and bowing carefully. His movements are controlled and graceful enough to pass as sober, even though his head is already feeling like it’s being stuffed with cotton. “We were waiting for your arrival.”

“And we waited the right way,” Johnny adds, hiccupping a bit at the end. “You two are impossible.”

Kun frowns, fixing his blazer as he sits. “What do you mean, Director Seo?”

“I mean,” Johnny says gravely, leaning forward in his seat and pointing a long finger accusingly at Kun and Taeyong. “We can’t ever fucking win when something involves the both of you. First, we all almost die. Then you have the audacity to traumatize my baby cousin and three-quarters of our people here. Now, you’re late for your own meeting. I’m sick of y’all.”

Taeyong blinks, looking genuinely confused. “What did we even do to upset you so much, Director Seo?”

Johnny slams his hands down on the table, shaking the glass on top of it and startling Sicheng awake. “You spend the last hour fucking off at god-knows-where, and you have the audacity to—”

“What Johnny means is,” Taeil cuts in, resting a comforting hand over the younger man’s wrist. “We’d all appreciate it if you keep things here strictly professional. Especially when we have new agents to introduce and show around.”

“Oh no, that’s what we’re doing?” Sicheng groans, rubbing his hands over his face. His eyes catch onto the untouched mojito by his side, and he immediately snatches it up. Sicheng drinks the cocktail like a man dying of thirst, and slams the empty glass down, before stretching out an arm towards Ten, who’s still valiantly trying to drown himself in rum.

“Give it here.”

Ten takes a final swig and passes the bottle across the table. Sicheng receives it with a nod of thanks before tilting it back and taking a hearty gulp.

“Good god, we’re all gonna become alcoholics at this rate,” Yuta chuckles a bit hysterically. Doyoung takes his husband’s hand in his own and gives it a gentle squeeze. They both drank about the same amount, but Doyoung knows for a fact that he holds his liquor better. That, or he’s just really good at faking being sober.

“So, where are the new agents?” Taeil asks, crossing his arms. “I expected that they’d be here by now.” His eye narrows dangerously at Taeyong. “You _did_ remember to call them into this meeting, right?”

Taeyong nods. “Of course. They should be on their way here now.”

“So while we wait, _again_ ,” Taeil says. “Would you two like something to drink? What’s your poison?”

“Oh, just water is fine, thank you.”

“Shaddap, Kun,” Johnny slurs, pushing a bottle of merlot at the Chinese branch director. “We’re all drunk, you’re drinking too. Get fucked.”

“Yes, I’m sure they already have, thank you Director Seo,” Doyoung deadpans as Taeyong chokes on his spit.

“Spare the kids!” Ten sobs in Thai. Doyoung doesn’t know how much liquor it took him to lose the ability to speak Korean, but it seems like it finally worked. “Send them home! They can’t be here right now! They can’t be here, period!”

Kun blinks at him. “Ten-ah, you need to drink some water,” he says in fluent but accented Thai.

“Don’t you tell me to drink water!” Ten screams back, standing up shakily and leaning over the table with his entire body to leer at Kun. “It’s because of you that I’m like this! Like fuck me and my liver, right? I didn’t ask to carry YOUR anniversary on my shoulders! And now you’re bringing in new kids to this hellhole with you two around? I don’t care if you’re my bosses, _screw_ both of you.”

Taeyong and Kun both look at the shorter agent with matching expressions of horror and a hint of shame, and Ten glares back, eyes red and unfocused. Jungwoo turns and kindly guides the agent back to his seat, murmuring soothing words as Ten breaks out into another round of ugly crying. 

Doyoung pities him. He really does. Like, working with Taeyong is bad already, and he doesn’t know Kun well enough to properly comprehend what kind of hell he raises, but at least he’s not the one stuck out of his element and trying to make someone else’s wedding anniversary nice.

Ten Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul and Dong Sicheng are some brave, brave men.

Doyoung reaches for his empty shot glass, eases the bottle of rum out of Sicheng’s vice grip, and pours one out for the both of them.

And right as he’s about to throw the shot back, there’s a knock on the door.

“Don’t come in!” Ten immediately yells, activating the voice-recognition lock and trapping their company outside.

Taeil sighs. “Don’t mind Agent Ten,” he calls towards the shuffling silhouettes behind the translucent glass doors. “Come in, please.”

“Sir, no—”

The doors slide open with a slight hiss, and two boys step in. They can’t be more than eighteen, nineteen at the most. They’re dressed in matching gray suits, the taller of the two sporting a mop of dark brown hair and his shorter companion a head of fluffy gray locks. They smile shyly at the room full of senior agents and directors and drop into perfect ninety-degree bows.

“Hello, directors and senior agents,” the taller one greets politely. “I am Jung Sungchan. Please take care of me.”

“And I’m Osaki Shotaro. I’ll be in your care,” the smaller one adds, voice soft and lightly accented. He scans the room, and Doyoung notices the moment the kid registers _exactly_ what they walked in on.

“Uhm, I’m sorry, are we interrupting something?” he asks quietly. “Is this a bad time?”

There’s a brief period where time seems to freeze in this conference room. Johnny perks up and stares at the two newbies. Sicheng pauses in his rum binge. Jungwoo doesn’t turn away from where he’s typing something on his tablet, fully absorbed in his work. 

“Oh, you sweet fluffy marshmallow child!” Ten hiccups, staggering out of his seat and stumbling towards the new agents. “You can’t work here! Please run away! Leave while you still can!”

Doyoung turns in his seat and stretches out an arm to catch Ten before he can trip over his own feet and faceplant in front of the visibly unnerved juniors. It doesn’t help that everything coming out of Ten’s mouth is in a jumble of broken Korean, English, and Thai.

“Go! Leave!” Ten continues to howl, barely standing upright in Doyoung’s hold. He jabs a finger at Taeyong and lets out an honest-to-god _growl_. “How dare you, Chief Director! What kind of fuckery are you tryna pull, huh? These children are innocent!”

“You know what, I think I’ll take the offer of a drink after all,” Kun mutters, popping the cork to the merlot and pouring himself a glass as Taeyong continues to watch, mortified.

Sungchan and Shotaro both shuffle awkwardly as Doyoung stands, hoisting Ten up by the armpits and manhandling him back into his own chair. Sicheng is still drowning his sorrows in rum, and Jungwoo is no help. Once he makes sure the Thai agent isn’t about to slide off his chair, Doyoung turns back to the junior agents and offers them a stiff smile.

“Welcome to NCT, Agents Jung and Osaki. You know the Chief Director, I’m sure.” He gestures at Taeyong, and the juniors nod in unison. “And that there’s Director Qian of the Chinese branch, Director Seo of the North American branch, and Director Moon of IT.”

Both Sungchan and Shotaro drop into another bow. “Sirs.”

“Please, don’t do that,” Johnny groans, brushing his long blonde hair out of his face as he leans back in his seat. “I don’t need to be reminded that I’m an old man.”

“You’re 28, Johnny,” Taeil grumbles, finishing off his cocktail and reaching for another from the neat line of glasses by his side. “I’m the one in my thirties.”

“We get it, you’re both ancient,” Sicheng cuts in, wiping away a dribble of rum with his sleeve. Which, as far as Doyoung’s concerned, is a very un-Sicheng thing to do. But as they say, there’s no room for judgement in a room full of kids, two sex addicts, a sociopath, and a bunch of alcoholics.

“So, Agents Jung and Osaki,” Taeyong begins, looking frazzled but nowhere as intoxicated as everyone else in the room. “You’re both under mentorship of a pair of senior agents here, until and after your first mission.” His eyes dart to Doyoung and the plea for help in them is evident enough.

Doyoung winces. “Right. Anyways, I’m Agent Kim Doyoung, and this—” he gestures at a languid Yuta staring blearily at the wall behind the new agents. “—is my associate, Agent Nakamoto Yuta. We’ll be your mentors and oversee your physical and infiltration training, respectively.” He points at Sicheng and Ten, both of whom are on the verge of passing out. “Usually mentors are only assigned no more than three mentees at a time, but I don’t think Agents Dong and Ten here would appreciate waking up with both a hangover and more responsibility.”

Sungchan and Shotaro offer him another meek bow, seemingly ignoring the fact that their seniors are all currently drunk off their asses and trying their best to mimic functional human beings. 

“It’ll be our honor to be under your tutelage, sir,” Sungchan says.

“I hope we get along, Agent Kim! I’ve read both of your records,” Shotaro adds with a winning grin, eyes narrowing into crescents and cheeks bunching up adorably. “Your agent histories are incredible. I’ve been studying your combat techniques for years now.”

"Oh, well thank—"

“Kid,” Yuta drawls, turning his attention away from the wall to look Shotaro in the eye. “Where you from?”

“Oh, Japan, sir.”

“Japan?” Yuta turns to Doyoung, eyes wide and watery. His lips are trembling. 

_Shit._

“Home...he’s from back home, Doyoung. Can we adopt him?”

 _There it is._ Doyoung sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, praying to anyone willing to listen for Yuta to not humiliate them both too badly in his drunken stupor. “Yuta, these juniors are here to work, not for us to just legally adopt—”

“You know how badly I’ve wanted children!” Yuta whines, staggering over to Doyoung and dropping to his knees before his husband. “Please! I want kids! Let’s adopt him! Both of them!”

Shotaro makes a confused sound and Sungchan arches an eyebrow. Doyoung shoots them both an apologetic glance. “Yeah…I’m sorry about him,” he says, stroking a hand through Yuta’s hair as the latter starts to hug Doyoung’s thighs and rock back and forth. “If you haven’t guessed, Agent Nakamoto is my husband, and I’m sure you already know that we’re all very, very intoxicated right now.”

“I want kids!” Yuta cries, before tossing his head backwards and staring right at Shotaro. The boy flinches from the intense gaze, and Doyoung drops his face into his hand.

“You,” Yuta says, eyes never leaving Shotaro’s squirming form. “I’m adopting you. And the tall one.” He rights himself, and Doyoung helps him stand. Yuta giggles a bit, giving Doyoung a light squeeze around the shoulder before directing his attention to the other occupants of the room.

“Listen up,” he says, voice steady and deadly sober as he trails his gaze from person to person. “If anyone in here so much as says a cruel word to either one of these kids, you’ll have hell to pay.”

Taeil purses his lips, unamused. “Sit, Agent Nakamoto. You’re drunk.”

“With all due respect, Director Moon, so are you,” Yuta replies, but takes a seat anyway.

“Yuta,” Doyoung chides gently, patting the back of his husband’s hand. “Shut up.”

“Now that we got introductions out of the way,” Taeil stands, taking his glass with him as he walks up to the juniors, stride alarmingly steady for someone who’s probably one Manhattan away from developing liver cirrhosis. “Come with me, agents. I’ll take you on a tour of the main office building and labs. Agents Kim and Nakamoto will receive you in the training dome later.”

Doyoung frowns. “We will?”

“You will,” Taeil answers for him, before guiding the juniors out of the room. The moment the doors slide shut behind them, Taeyong collapses into the nearest chair and groans.

“What have I done?”

“Now you ask?” Johnny huffs incredulously, standing up and stumbling towards the door. “You’ve unleashed hell, that’s what. I hope you’re happy, Taeyong. How many more innocent souls do you intend to corrupt?”

Taeyong scowls, snatching the bottle of merlot away from Kun and taking a sip. “Says the man who almost killed his own flesh and blood, more than once.”

Johnny turns around, motion as smooth and precise as a coiled cobra, and the one last cluster of sober brain cells in Doyoung’s head just knows that it’s about to get ugly.

“ _What_ did you just say?” Johnny growls, taking a step towards Taeyong. “I must’ve misheard you, chief.”

“Oh, no.” Doyoung nudges Yuta and Jungwoo, motioning at the unconscious China branch agents around them. “Woo, you make sure nobody dies here. Yuta and I will get Sicheng and Ten into a proper bed and pump their stomachs before they die from alcohol poisoning.”

Jungwoo shoots him a cheery smile and a salute. “Aye-aye, hyung! You can count on me!”

“Thanks.” Doyoung drags Yuta off his chair and pushes him at Sicheng. “Grab him. I got Ten. We’re making a pit stop by the infirmary before heading to the dome.”

Yuta nods woozily but complies nonetheless, lifting Sicheng easily onto his back as Doyoung pulls Ten into his arms. The world spins for a moment when Doyoung tries walking to the doors with the added weight, and he has to pause and glare at the floor until it decides to stop moving. Then, with his fellow alcoholic husband, he leaves the conference room right as the first bottle of wine shatters against a window.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I should be writing an essay but instead I wrote this :D

Jaehyun comes into work like how he would every other day of every other week.

Late, still kind of sleepy, and utterly confused.

When he enters the fifth floor of NCT Seoul headquarters, Jisung is standing by a cubicle in the front, talking to someone over his earpiece while balancing a stack of files in one hand and juggling a highlighter, magnifying glass, and a can in the other. He’s still dressed in his training gear, and there’s the beginning of a black eye forming on his face. Renjun speed-walks past him, speaking in rapid-fire Chinese before groaning and switching to Korean, then back to Chinese, and then back to Korean. He notices Jaehyun stepping out from the elevator, and drops into a quick bow as he strides past him and all but runs to the stairs just next to the elevator.

Then, Taeil shows up, with two boys trailing obediently behind him. They’re young, a little nervous-looking, and unfamiliar-but-kind-of-familiar. He swears he’s seen their faces around here somewhere, but he just can’t quite place the where and when.

Are they the subject of today’s meeting? Heck, Jaehyun doesn’t know, because he’s  _ late _ .

“Director Moon,” Jaehyun greets with a bow. “Apologies for my tardiness. I thought I could still arrive in time for the meeting. Has Johnny told you—”

“Johnny told me everything,” Taeil says, taking a sip from the glass in his hand. “We decided to conclude a little earlier than scheduled. But you’re right on time to meet our newest agents.” He gestures at the boys behind him.

Jaehyun flashes the juniors a warm smile and bows. “Welcome. I’m Agent Jung Jaehyun, from the North American branch. Pleasure to meet you both.”

The boys immediately bow back. One of them barely reaches Jaehyun’s cheek standing up, while the other has a generous amount of centimeters on him. It’s kind of endearing. Jaehyun wonders if anyone already called dibs on mentoring these kids.

“Hello, Agent Jung, I’m Osaki Shotaro,” the shorter boy introduces with a sweet smile.

“And I’m Jung Sungchan,” the taller continues. “The pleasure is all ours, sir.”

“Please, ‘hyung’ is fine,” Jaehyun replies. He kind of wants to pat Sungchan and Shotaro both on the head, because damn it, these kids are adorable. However, he can’t, because Taeil is right there, and he’s drinking—

—wait a minute…

Jaehyun’s head snaps over to the IT director, who’s still sipping amber from a whiskey glass. A  _ whiskey _ glass. It’s not even noon yet.

_ What on earth happened before he got here? _

“Sir,” Jaehyun begins, gesturing vaguely at the whiskey. “It’s eleven o’clock.”

Taeil pulls the glass away and nods calmly. “Yes. And?”

Jaehyun’s eyes dart to the glass and back up to Taeil’s face. “Nothing, sir. Is there anything I can help you with while I’m here?”

“Yes, actually.” Taeil motions at the hall he came from. “The other directors and senior agents are still in the conference room. They’ll bring you up to speed with today’s agenda. I’ve just been giving Agents Osaki and Jung here a tour of the office here. We’re about to head down to the labs.”

Jaehyun internally cringes as his eyes make contact with the glass in Taeil’s hands again. 

Liquor. 

Lab. 

Chenle and Jaemin. 

Those are a couple words Jaehyun never wants to picture in the same scenario, ever. And while it’s not obvious that the director is drunk, Jaehyun doesn’t want to take any chances where Taeil and those kids are going.

“May I take your glass for you, director?” Jaehyun holds out a hand. “It’s not safe to take flammable substances down into the development lab.”

Taeil really must’ve been more out of it than Jaehyun initially thought, because the elder just nods once before depositing the half-empty glass in Jaehyun’s hand. “Thank you, Agent Jung.”

“Of course, director.”

Taeil regards him with a final nod, before making for the staircase, the two young agents behind him following along with his every step. Jaehyun watches them leave, before making his way down the hall and towards the conference room. 

And that’s when his entire world turns upside-down.

The moment those glass doors slide open, a dark projectile is flying at his face, and Jaehyun barely manages to register it as a wine bottle before ducking.

“Why are you trying to kill me?” he groans as he steps into the room, keeping his posture slightly hunched just in case he needs to duck again. “I just got back from Rio. If I wanted to die I’d have—”

He stops.

The entire room smells like alcohol and something slightly...musky. And not the good kind. Taeyong’s white shirt is untucked and stained dark cherry and amber from what is undoubtedly alcohol, if all the empty and shattered bottles around the room are anything to go by. Johnny is standing on the conference table, all six feet of him looming over Taeyong, who—to be fair—is also standing on the table. He’s also drenched and he’s yelling. They’re both yelling. Jaehyun has no idea why they’re yelling.

Kun and Jungwoo are sitting cross-legged underneath the table with a bottle of wine between them. The secretary is typing something into his tablet and sipping occasionally from a glass by his side. Kun is also drinking, but his eyes are rolled up to the surface of the table above him, looking like he’s completely given up on life.

“Uh…” Jaehyun kicks aside a couple shards of glass and continues to stare at Johnny and Taeyong’s shouting match. “Not to sound callous or anything, but Chief Director, Director Seo, what the hell are you doing?”

Johnny notices him first, and shoots him a quick, pained smile before snapping his gaze back to Taeyong. “Hey, Jae. Gimme a sec. I’ll be right with you after I finish telling this bastard off.”

Jaehyun’s free hand instinctively curls into a fist, because damn it, Johnny does  _ not _ sound sober. Sober Johnny would never try to start shit with Taeyong, one of his oldest friends and brother-in-arms. Sober Johnny wouldn’t dare get his $6,000 designer suit drenched with _water_ , much less _red wine_. Sober Johnny wouldn’t get on top of a table just to yell at someone, he’s tall enough as it is.

“Tell me off? Tell  _ me _ off?” Taeyong hisses, pushing Johnny roughly. Not like it does anything, anyways. Johnny remains firmly rooted where he stands, and all Taeyong manages to do is crack his wrist kind of loud. “You’re the one who threw a bottle of merlot at me!”

“You accused me of harming Mark!” Johnny shouts back.

“Because you  _ had _ !”

“He’s my baby, how dare you—”

Jaehyun’s been married for almost six years. He’s a trained field agent specializing in infiltration. He’s fought people in every continent except Antarctica. He raised a child through their teenage years.

Needless to say, he  _ knows _ when shit’s about to hit the fan even before the people actually throwing down know shit’s about to hit the fan.

“Okay, okay, stop.” Jaehyun sets the whiskey aside and leaps onto the table to shove himself between Johnny and Taeyong, arms outstretched to prevent the two men from getting any more physical. “Clearly, you’re both drunk, and I’m still suffering jet lag. Can everyone  _ please _ just stop trying to murder each other for one day and tell me what’s going on? Please?”

Johnny still looks like he wants to punt Taeyong out the nearest window, but Jaehyun points at his eyebags and huffs, “Seriously. I just want to work, not babysit grown men. Just bring me up to speed, please.”

‘Or you’ll be sorry when we go home,’ he threatens with his eyes.

Thankfully, Johnny’s just sober enough to register the threat to his domestic life, because his shoulders immediately sag. “We got new agents,” he says glumly. “And we’re supposed to be showing them around and shit. Taeil just took them out to check out the office and lab.”

“I know, I ran into them on my way here,” Jaehyun says as he dismounts from the table. “Now, get down here and please explain why he was drinking a full glass of whiskey when I saw him. And why you’re both covered with alcohol. And why there’s broken bottles and glass everywhere. And why Director Qian and Jungwoo are under the table.”

Johnny wrings his hands and the hem of his shirt. “You want the long story or short story?”

“I’m tired, short version, please.”

“Taeyong and Kun fucked before getting here and we didn’t wanna deal with their bullshit when they finally got here,” Johnny blurts. Taeyong and Kun both shoot him identical glares, which he blissfully ignores. “And in my defense for getting wasted, Taeil-hyung started it.”

Jaehyun can’t believe it. Actually, he can, but he just chooses not to.

“We  _ just _ survived those two fighting just half a year ago,” he says, pointing at Taeyong and Kun, who has pulled himself out from underneath the table. “Can we not have another fight between the directors? What kind of an example are you setting for everyone else?”

“A bad one,” Johnny admits miserably.

Jaehyun nods, before reaching over to the half-full glass of whiskey still on the table and downing the entire thing.

Johnny’s mouth drops, incredulous. “Jae, you just said—”

“I know what I said,” Jaehyun interrupts, slamming the glass back down on the table. “And like I said, you’re all setting a bad example.”

“I’m okay,” Jungwoo quips, raising a hand and smiling way too bright for eleven in the morning. “I’m just here, doing my job.”

Jaehyun has always respected Jungwoo a lot, but now, he’s downright terrified of him. Not only is Jungwoo also probably drunk, but he looks nothing like it. His white shirt and waistcoat are spotless, his hair perfectly styled, and he’s still holding that damn tablet.

“This can’t be real. This cannot be happening.” Jaehyun turns away and rubs his hands over his face. “We need to clean this up. We need to sober up.”

“I’ve called for janitorial already,” Jungwoo quips helpfully. “And ordered in new sets of suits for all the directors. They should’ve arrived already. I’ll have them delivered to the respective offices here. Oh! And I’ve taken care of catering. Light soups, seven different types of bread, cauliflower gnocchi, and baked potatoes. All food to help drunkenness and hangovers. I’m sure Agents Ten and Dong will appreciate it in particular.”

Jaehyun is suddenly very, very intimidated. “What...happened to them?”

“Oh, they got blackout drunk and had to be taken to the infirmary to get their stomachs pumped.”

“But  _ why _ ?”

Jungwoo’s eyes dart over to the three directors standing idly by, with Kun mediating between Johnny and Taeyong. Jaehyun feels his heart drop a little at the too-familiar sight. 

_ Oh, how the tables have turned.  _ No wonder Ten and Sicheng decided to get blackout drunk.

“Got it.” Jaehyun takes a step back and points to the door. The sooner he can get away from Jungwoo and his scary efficiency, the better he can sleep at night. “Now, sirs, if you’d please.”

Kun nods wordlessly at him and takes Taeyong’s arm, guiding him out the door first. Johnny steps forward next, steps slightly uneven. Jaehyun catches him by the shoulder and eases him out, being extra careful to avoid the broken glass and spilled liquor all over the place.

“You know,” he says as they make their way down the hall. “Drinking won’t solve all our problems here.”

“No,” Johnny admits groggily. “But it can dull the pain.”

“We’re at work.”

“Yes.”

“Johnny, you’re a director. A leader. You can’t just lose face like this.” Jaehyun sighs, turning down a corridor and heading towards the closest elevator. “Not only that, but you lost yours and mine.”

“Hey,” Johnny mumbles. “You can’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“I have no face left to lose. It all went kapoof after that time Taeyong pantsed me and hung me upside-down in the dome for cutting his hair.”

Jaehyun blinks several times. “How long ago was this?”

“Fourteen years ago? Fuck if I remember,” Johnny groans, lurching forward a little. “Where’s my office? I need to hug a toilet.”

Panic sets in, slow but steady as Jaehyun helps his drunk husband into the elevator and presses the button to the tenth floor. “Okay look, just hold it in for maybe another half minute. Can you do that?”

“I’ll try…”

Oh, no. Nononononononono. Jaehyun begs the elevator to move faster as they ascend, because he is NOT prepared to deal with Johnny puking all over both of them and the elevator today.

Fortunately, Johnny manages his nausea well enough for them to make it to his office. Jaehyun all but kicks the door down and hurries to the en suite, shoving the door open and his husband in.

Unfortunately, Johnny doesn’t  _ quite _ make it to the toilet.

But it’s  _ okay _ . Jaehyun is  _ okay _ . He’s a married man. A husband. A brother. A surrogate parent figure. If he can deal with Mark when he was sick with a stomach bug and projectile-vomiting all over the bathroom, he can deal with anything.

So without a moment’s hesitation, he throws off his jacket, pulls off his tie, and rolls up his sleeves.

Time to get to work for real.


	4. Chapter 4

The descent into the lab has been peaceful, and in Taeil’s drunken state of mind, that is the indisputable highlight of his day. The junior agents behind him are polite and mostly quiet, only breaking the silence to ask questions about the agency every once in a while.

“Sir,” Sungchan begins. “How long have you been with the agency?”

“Oh, about twenty years now, if you count my trainee days,” Taeil chuckles, descending the final flight of stairs leading to the labs. “I’m the eldest of all the staff here in NCT Seoul headquarters.”

“Were you always working in IT, Director Moon?” Shotaro asks.

“No. I used to be a field agent when I was younger.” Taeil casts a wistful glance at the young agents behind him. “Like you.”

“What division did you work in, sir?”

“I specialized in raids.” Taeil points at his eyepatch. “Believe it or not, I used to be a sniper.”

“I’ve heard stories!” Sungchan exclaims, eyes bright and gleaming with admiration. “The older trainees always mention how you used to be an absolute monster in the field. They call you Paranoia because you kill and disappear, and nobody could ever find anything on you. They just know that you’re out to kill them. That is—” he takes a breath and collects himself. “—sir, that is—you are amazing.”

Taeil chuckles as he steps forward to let the lasers surrounding the lab’s entrance scan him. The nickname will forever stand as a chapter in his personal history, even though it’s used to describe a completely different aspect of his life now. “I’m flattered, Agent Jung. Unfortunately, my days of spreading paranoia and hunting criminals are long over.”

“Forgive me for asking, but does it have anything to do with your eye, sir?”

He’s a straightforward one, that Jung Sungchan. Taeil doesn’t like divulging too many details about his retirement from the field, but the boy looks so genuinely curious that it’s hard to refuse him an answer. “Partially. I had my reasons for retiring from the field. But that’s a story reserved for sober times, and gentlemen, now is not sober times.” 

The doors slide open with a soft mechanic whirr, and the three step inside. The labs are a large space, taking up the entire floor and sectioned off neatly. On the far left is the chemical lab and panic room, on the far right the mechanical lab, and in the center is a large testing zone filled with targets and dummies. There’s even a simulation lab in the back, utilizing the most advanced virtual reality and wind tunnels to give agents the best preparation for actual mission events without putting them in danger.

Which, considering the place they’re in, is quite ironic.

Taeil can hear their technicians talking in the testing zone, voices quiet but growing louder as they approach.

“No, I just think if we pull the spring back a little tighter—”

“But then the force of its discharge could cause a pretty severe recoil.” There’s a click of a tongue against teeth, and a clank as metal meets metal. “Move over. Give me that.”

“Lele, you don’t know how to handle something like this,” the first voice sighs, clearly exasperated. “Just give me time. I’ll figure it out.”

“Well, that’s a luxury we can’t really afford now, can we?” the second voice snaps, and there’s a sequence of small clicks and squeaks as Taeil and the new agents walk into the testing zone.

Taeil clears his throat, waving a hand at the pair with their backs currently towards them. “Good morning, Jaemin, Chenl—”

A loud snap echoes in the large open space, followed by a shrill, “OH SHIT, DUCK!”

The two technicians drop flat to the ground, and Taeil must’ve been drunker than he thought, because in the next second _Shotaro_ and _Sungchan_ are grabbing him and pulling him down. Just in time too, because not even a millisecond later, a stray bolt whizzes through the air, ricochets off a couple metal panes, and stabs clean through the floor right before Sungchan’s eyes.

“Eek!”

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck—ow—fuckity mcfuck.” Jaemin slowly pulls himself up and clenches his leg, wincing. “I think I pulled a wire.”

Shotaro peeks at the surroundings from behind his fingers. “What _was_ that?” he squeaks.

“Crossbow bolt,” Chenle replies without batting an eye, dusting himself off and bending down until he’s eye-level with Jaemin’s kneecap. “What’s with your leg now?”

“I just pulled a hammy,” Jaemin whines, unzipping his right pant leg all the way to his mid-thigh. Both Shotaro and Sungchan let out an awed gasp as a sleek, metallic bionic leg comes into view, with silvery plates and wires encased in clear panels running down the artificial limb.

Chenle knocks on one of the panels and inspects the limb from both the front and back. “Nana, your wires are fine.”

“Oh, shut up. I’m the one with a mechanical engineering degree. You don’t know shit.”

“ _Excuse me?_ I have two more degrees than you, and one of them’s a PhD—”

“Sure, but my IQ’s five points higher and I graduated a double major, so don’t give me that, asshole—”

“Awesome.” Sungchan startles and claps a hand over his mouth as the technicians look up from the leg and turn towards him.

Jaemin frowns. “Who are you?” 

“New agents in need of an explanation,” Taeil says, feeling slightly lightheaded as the two junior agents help him up. “Gentlemen.”

Both Jaemin and Chenle avert their gaze to the floor as they drop into a bow. “Hi, Director Moon.”

“Are you drunk?” Chenle asks.

Taeil nods. “Wasted.”

The chemist nods understandingly. “Ah, thought so. I can smell that bourbon from a kilometer and a half away. What gives? Did the chief and Director Qian start fighting again?”

“The opposite, actually.”

“Damn.” Jaemin shakes his leg out and steps forward to stand beside Chenle. “We missed free drinks and entertainment?” 

Taeil shakes his head. “You’re both still too young.” He doesn't bring up the fact that Chenle can cook up cocaine in his lab just for shits and giggles, and has doped up not only himself, but Jaemin enough times _on accident_ for it to be considered illegal. The newbies don't need to know that, though. He's sure they'll find out soon enough on their own.

“But still, we missed free entertainment?” Chenle pouts. "I could've recorded it for the next holiday dinner."

“ _Chenle_.”

“So how many people got shit-faced?”

“ _Jaemin_. And to answer your question, literally everyone present. Except maybe the senior Agent Jung. He was late.”

Chenle turns to Jaemin and flashes the other technician a positively _wicked_ grin. “Fifteen thousand won that Jae-hyung got plastered once he found out.”

Jaemin snorts. “Bitch, make it twenty and you’re on.”

“Deal.”

Taeil’s eye narrows. “What have I said about wagers in the workplace?”

“Sorry, sorry, Director Moon.” Chenle’s eyes flick to the two figures standing behind Taeil, and instantly narrows into amused slits. “So, who are our new victims?”

Shotaro flinches and ducks behind Sungchan, who ducks behind Taeil, who heaves a sigh and turns, gesturing at the two boys behind him. “Gentlemen, meet Agents Osaki and Jung, our newest additions to the field. Agents Osaki and Jung, meet our primary technicians, Zhong Chenle and Na Jaemin.”

“Wow, I feel like I’m in trouble or something, he used my full name.” Chenle grins as he waves at the two agents, who both look like they’d rather be anywhere else than here. “Hey! Nice to meet ya! I’m Chenle.”

Jaemin raises a hand in a salute, the other still fidgeting with the wires in his leg. “And I’m Jaemin. Sorry about almost killing you. Get used to it while you can.”

Sungchan flashes them both a strained smile. “Nice to meet you too. I’m Jung Sungchan.”

“And I’m Osaki Shotaro.”

“Sweet. We love having new blood around,” Jaemin grins, straightening up and rubbing his hands together. “So then, what’s your fighting style? Close-combat? Long-range? How do you guys feel about retractable laser blades?”

“Uh…”

“Or nerve gas grenades?” Chenle pipes in.

“We—”

“GPS-enhanced torpedos?”

“What even—”

“Rapid-dissolving cyanide stickers?”

“Um—”

Jaemin claps his hands. “Ooh! How about mission glasses? Newly renovated, AI-enhanced, can zero in on targets from half a kilometer away better than a scope. Or maybe a new prosthetic eyeball altogether? I’ve just finished a prototype that can act as a scope, night-vision goggles, and thermal vision in one. So if you’re willing to give up an eyeball and test it out, I can just call up the infirmary and have them—”

“How about we save the deadly weapons and gadgets until after our new agents are more familiar with the premises?” Taeil cuts in. “At least give them the chance to find the quickest route to the infirmary before you terrorize them.”

“Terrorize?” Shotaro squeaks as Sungchan blinks, wide-eyed and disbelieving. “There’s different routes to the infirmary?”

“Oh, yeah!” Chenle points to the entrance they came from. “Take the emergency elevator down the hall, go to the third floor, and then it’s just two rights and a left. Dr. Jeno Lee. Can’t miss it.”

“Um, thank you?”

“Sure thing! We’ve all used the route at some point.” Chenle casts a wry glance at Jaemin’s bionic leg. “Some more than others.”

Jaemin scowls as he zips up his pants again. “I resent that.”

Chenle smiles innocently, ignoring his colleague in favor of sizing up the new agents. “So, what’s your poison?”

Sungchan shakes his head. “Oh, no drinks for us, thank you. Agent Jung mentioned that it’s not safe to have flammable substances down in the lab. That’s why he took Director Moon’s liquor before we came down here.”

“Ah, Jae-hyung?” Chenle’s smile turns into a grin. “He’s right, actually. But I didn’t mean liquor. I mean, what toxins do you prefer to kill people with?”

“Uh, we didn’t—”

“Do you prefer pills or gases? Maybe liquids?” Chenle springs forward and links his arm through Sungchan’s, dragging the taller boy over to the chemical lab. “Come, come! I’ve got so much to show you! Nana, you take Shotaro! We’ll trade in fifteen minutes!”

Jaemin nods and walks up to a startled Shotaro, offering a hand towards the shaken boy. “C’mon, I’ll show you my lab and all the sick gadgets you’ll be able to use in the field.” He notices Shotaro staring at his hand curiously, and cracks a knowing smile. “This one’s real.” He flexes his fingers and rolls his sleeve up to his elbow. “I don’t bite, I promise.”

Shotaro glances at Jaemin’s hand, then at Taeil, sending a silent request for approval. He looks terrified, and Taeil deeply respects the young agent’s sense of self-preservation.

“Jaemin’s harmless, Shotaro,” Taeil assures, patting the boy gently on the back. “Mostly. So far the only person he’s managed to maim here is himself.”

“Facts!” Jaemin nods. “Though, I almost killed Mark-hyung when we were testing out the aerial maneuvering gear that one time.” He takes in Shotaro’s terrified expression and wraps an arm around the agent’s shoulders. “But that was just one time. One oopsies outta many. It’s perfectly safe now. You wanna try it out?”

Shotaro mumbles a reply that has Jaemin cackling, and Taeil watches in both pity and helplessness as the junior agent turns and shoots him a pleading look that Taeil’s seen on almost everyone who’s ever had to endure a round of being Na Jaemin’s personal guinea pig.

_‘Help me!’_

And like every time, Taeil shrugs in return. It’s better to let them learn right as they’re starting out. If they can’t even handle the shenanigans of the lab technicians, god help them in the field.

This is only the first rite of passage.

Taeil just hopes that they’re not too horribly traumatized by the time he takes them to the training dome for phase two.


	5. Chapter 5

Doyoung doesn’t know exactly what he'd expect after Taeil took the new kids around the office and the labs, but it certainly isn’t this.

Both Shotaro and Sungchan look like they’ve gone through hell and back, hair mussed and suits crumpled and stained with questionable substances. The taller of the two is holding onto Shotaro for support, and through the fuzziness of his cognition, Doyoung swears Sungchan’s legs are trembling like a newborn fawn.

“What happened to you two?” Doyoung looks past them towards the entrance of the training dome. “Where’s Director Moon?”

“H-he retired t-to his office,” Shotaro stutters, standing shock-still and eyes wide like he’s just walked in on Taeyong and Kun. Doyoung hopes to everything sacred that the poor kid didn’t actually do that, though he wouldn’t be surprised if he had.

“Yuta,” he hisses, nudging his husband in the side with his elbow. Yuta lifts his head and blinks a couple of times, disoriented. Doyoung will never understand how he can doze off while standing up and not collapse. It’s amazing.

“Wah—what’d you need? Who died?” Yuta mumbles.

“Nobody. The juniors are here.”

“Juniors?” Yuta’s eyes land on the traumatized Shotaro and Sungchan before them, and he instantly breaks out into a grin. “My new kids!”

Shotaro gives him a slight bow, just enough to be respectful, but not so much to send Sungchan buckling to the floor. “S-sir.”

“No ‘sir’ with me, kiddo. It’s ‘hyung’ to you,” Yuta says. “And hey, what happened to you two? You look...different.”

“W-we just came back from the l-labs,” Shotaro explains as Sungchan continues to shiver and shake beside him. “It was a-an experience.”

Yuta winces in sympathy. “Not a good one, I’m guessing?”

“N-no, s—hyung.”

Yuta nods once and leans towards Doyoung. “We have _got_ to stop those lab brats from almost killing everyone who goes down there.”

Doyoung sighs. “Yuta, we’ve been trying to do that for the last _three years_.”

“We should try harder.”

He’s got a point there, Doyoung will give him that. Though, it’s not like any amount of yelling, threatening, and confiscating will do anyone good in the long run. Jaemin and Chenle always manage to get their hands on banned goods, and they can’t just wipe out the labs of everything metal or chemical, because that would defy the entire purpose of the fucking laboratory. 

But that sounds like a sober person problem, so for the moment, Doyoung stands unbothered.

Right now, all he can focus on—and he’s using the term very loosely—is calming everyone’s nerves and hopefully having the juniors meet some other people.

“You’ve both been in here already, I presume.” Doyoung’s not surprised when he receives a pair of nods in return. “Good. That actually spares us a majority of the tour. I have no idea why Director Moon even wants us all in here. But while we’re here, let’s go over your training regimen as active agents.”

“Yes, sir.”

Doyoung starts explaining the basic training regimen every field agent has to follow, leading the traumatized pair and his husband around the dome at a leisurely pace.

“Every day you’re here at Seoul headquarters, there will be two hours allotted for training. Half an hour is cardio exercises. Five kilometers around the track is mandatory. But the rest is up to you. Then we move on to strength training. Weights are a must, and so are push-ups and sit-ups. The last hour is given for sparring practice and combat training. You’ll be sparring against the senior agents for that.”

Sungchan gulps. “That’s...intimidating.”

“Ah, relax, kid.” Yuta chuckles, slinging an arm around Sungchan’s shoulders. “The safety guidelines are updated. No serious injuries allowed. You can’t dislocate anyone’s hip or concuss them in the same session now. That’s a no-no.” He meets Doyoung’s eyes and winks.

Doyoung doesn’t wink back. “Right.”

“We might bruise you up a bit, but hey, you get to learn, and we’ll coach you through your faults.” Yuta gives Sungchan a hearty pat and makes his way back to Doyoung’s side. “So don’t sweat it, kiddo. The worst you’ll see here is maybe a bloody nose or a couple bruises.”

Doyoung nods his agreement, and tries to continue explaining training schedules when a pair of voices interrupt his train of thought. They’re loud—one high and the other slightly rough around the edges. Both sounding winded. Accompanied by a wealth of curse words.

Somewhere in the distance, Mark and Donghyuck are fighting over something. Doyoung doesn’t dare lead the new agents any closer to the scene itself, but even from halfway across the dome, he can hear every word being yelled, loud and clear.

“What the fuck! Hyuck, you can’t be real!”

A loud slap echoes in the space of the dome. “Well is THAT real enough for you?” Donghyuck shouts.

“Slap me again and I swear to god, I’ll shove a bat so far up your ass you’ll be coughing out wood splinters for weeks.”

“With those weak-ass arms of yours? Why don’t you just chop them off and have Jaemin make you some new ones?”

Shotaro startles and immediately turns to the source of the noise, hands tugging at Doyoung’s sleeves. “U-uh sir? Are those agents—”

“They will be fine,” Doyoung cuts in, making a point to ignore the two fighting young men as he leads the two new members to the sparring ring. “You will be seeing a lot more surprising things in your time here, I guarantee you.” 

An idea suddenly comes to mind. It’s probably not a good idea, given their setting and company, but Doyoung’s too drunk to care.

Hell, he doesn’t think he’d care if he was sober, either. Such is the beauty of working with these people for the last twelve years of his life.

“Mark! Donghyuck!” he calls.

The two agents pause in their skirmish, and turn, before jogging over. Mark has a bright red handprint on his left cheek and Donghyuck’s lip is bleeding. Doyoung makes a mental note to have a chat about their injuries later, if he can remember it by the end of this...whatever they’re in here for. He forgot.

Well, guess Yuta will have to pull something out of his ass now, because Doyoung’s brain has officially decided to go on vacation to Vodka Avenue.

“Hey, hyung.”

“Do you need us for something?”

“Yeah, we need you two to not kill each other and meet some people,” Doyoung says. “Guys, this is Agent Osaki Shotaro and Agent Jung Sungchan.”

Mark smiles politely and offers the two juniors a bow. “Hey there. I’m Mark Lee. I double for the Korean and North American branches.”

Donghyuck gives them a two-fingered salute. “What’s up? I’m Lee Donghyuck, and I’m not constantly suffering jet lag.”

Doyoung stretches an arm out before Mark can raise his own and sock Donghyuck in the face.

“By the way, I wouldn’t stand too close to that loser if I were you,” Donghyuck drawls, jerking a thumb back at Mark. “Mark-hyung is the most unlucky bastard alive. Just being around him increases your chances of wearing your funeral suit by about 50%.”

Mark looks like he wants to protest, but the younger agent beats him to it. “Don’t even try to deny it, hyung. Your reputation in the agency is literally ‘how the fuck has he not died yet’. Shut up.”

Clearly bested, Mark turns away. Doyoung instinctively steps to his side and stretches out an arm. Mark scoots into his side in an instant, burying his face in Doyoung’s shoulder as the senior agent gently pats his back. It’s childish, sure, but Doyoung’s had his fair share in raising these young agents. There’s a time to be tough, and then there are times to just be drunk and soft and mushy because they are still kids.

Shotaro peeks out from behind Doyoung’s shoulder. “Um...Agent Lee, a-are you okay?”

Mark mumbles something unintelligible into Doyoung’s shirt.

“He says he’ll be fine,” Doyoung translates. “He’s just tired.”

Donghyuck snorts and rolls his eyes. “Sure. Tired. Like he didn’t try to take my head off with this earlier.” He moves to pull something from his belt holster, and Mark pulls away from Doyoung to try and grab the younger boy.

“Hyuck, don’t you fucking dare—”

“Oh, I dare, Markie-hyung,” Donghyuck sneers, dodging Mark’s frantic attempts at grabbing him and freeing something narrow and oblong from his belt. “Don’t make me use it on you, hyung. I will. Try me.”

Mark’s face flushes an inferno shade of red. “You little—”

There’s a sharp twang, a flash, a yell, and Doyoung whips around right as a shock of wind blows past his ear.

Sungchan shrieks.

“BLOOD!”

“Really?” Yuta says, sounding more tired than anything else. “This is the _third time_ this shit has happened.”

Doyoung lifts his head, surveying his surroundings. Shotaro and Sungchan are both unharmed, which is good. Mark and Donghyuck stand a distance away, with the latter hiding something behind his back and looking seven shades of guilty.

And Yuta—

“What?” Doyoung narrows his eyes as he tries to make sense of what he’s seeing. “What the fuck?”

“Middle-range bondage wires,” Yuta supplies, gesturing at the right side of his body, where his limbs are bound tightly with razor-thin wires and pinned to the wall. “Get me out of this.”

“I’ll go get help!” Shotaro says, stumbling onto his feet. “Stay put, Agent Nakamoto!”

Yuta stares at Shotaro, then the immobile half of his body. “Well shit, I ain’t going anywhere, kid.”

“There’s an emergency call button by the entrance!” Doyoung shouts as Shotaro begins to haul ass towards the doors. “Don’t call for the medic! Get Jaemin in here!”

It doesn’t quite dawn on him that he actually knows how to cut the damn wires until Jaemin shows up, wire cutters in one hand and a first-aid kit in another. And naturally, Chenle is with him, because they’re a package deal. He’s holding a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and the sight of it almost makes Doyoung nauseous, because goddamn it, they’re in this mess because of alcohol in the first place.

He doesn’t know what exactly went down in the labs, but the true extent of the damage the technicians inflicted on Shotaro and Sungchan is exposed when the twosome approaches. Shotaro squeaks when Jaemin comes within three meters of him, and Sungchan nearly trips over himself to scramble away from Chenle. They both dive behind Doyoung, clutching at his jacket and shaking.

Doyoung heaves a long-suffering sigh as Jaemin and Chenle both shoot him matching sheepish grins. Somewhere behind him, Sungchan actually begins sobbing. 

“Make it stop,” he weeps. “Sir, please make it stop!”

Chenle smiles apologetically. “We were just showing them around,” he says when Doyoung turns his patented death glare onto him.

“And maybe we got a little too excited,” Jaemin adds, slightly less apologetic. “But it was fun.”

“For us, at least.” 

The technicians exchange a perfectly-coordinated hi-five, and Doyoung wishes that he was sober enough to remember what the punishment for misbehaving usually is. He draws a blank, so the next best thing he has to work with is, “Might I remind you that _I_ am hosting the holiday dinner this year?”

It works better than expected. Jaemin and Chenle immediately bow their heads and back away, looking like kicked puppies.

“Don’t uninvite us, please,” Jaemin pleads quietly. “I’m willing to kill a man for your bread pudding.”

Chenle nods frantically. “We’re sorry, Agent Kim.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Doyoung snaps, pointing to the two cowering agents behind him. “Apologize to them.”

Chenle and Jaemin both step forward, while Shotaro and Sungchan whimper and scuttle back.

“We’re sorry,” the technicians say in unison, and they actually sound sincere. “We got carried away and made you try things you weren’t comfortable with. We didn’t mean to harm you.”

There’s a short stretch of silence, broken only by Sungchan’s quiet cries. Shotaro reacts first, nodding his head timidly as he peeks out from behind Doyoung’s shoulder. “I-it’s okay. C-can we just...truce?”

Jaemin nods. “Truce.”

“We’ll ask your permission and comfort levels next time,” Chenle says. “Well, unless the chief orders something, I guess.”

“ _Chenle_.”

“Sorry, hyung.”

Doyoung rubs his temples. This whole day has been nothing short of a complete shitshow, and so far, they’ve all just been making countless bad decisions. There’s not even a sequence to it. It’s just one damn thing after another.

On the bright side, Yuta’s not seriously injured. The wires come off with a clean cut from Jaemin, and there’s only a couple shallow cuts along Yuta’s bicep and thigh. Nothing a dash of alcohol, some butterfly bandages, and a roll of gauze can’t fix.

“Damn it,” Yuta says when Chenle’s finished patching him up. He’s scowling, looking moodily at the cuts in his pant leg and sleeve. “I liked this suit too. It cost me almost three grand in the U.S.”

“We’ll buy you a new one,” Doyoung says, before turning to the two juniors behind him. “But I’ve had enough excitement for one day. Tomorrow, we’ll reconvene here at training. Now, we’re going back to the office. I need to have a word with the Chief Director."

Shotaro tilts his head. "What for, sir?"

Sungchan eyes Doyoung nervously. "Are we in trouble?"

"No, no you're both fine." Doyoung groans as a pulsing pain flares up behind his eyes. "But he has _got_ to arrange for a resident psychiatrist here. I need—I believe we could all use some therapy. And maybe medications.”

Mark raises his hand. "I second that!"

Donghyuck frowns. "Hyung, you're already on three pills a day."

"Oh, be quiet, you. Given how I'm living, I need more."

Doyoung agrees. They could all use a nice big dose of anti-anxiety medication right now. Alcohol has dulled the greater part of his instinct to panic, but he can't kill his liver every day just to get through work.


	6. Chapter 6

If anyone asks, Doyoung totally didn’t speed-walk from the training dome all the way to the main building.

He also totally didn’t speed-walk while carrying Yuta on his back.

And he totally didn’t abandon Sungchan and Shotaro on the main office floor, because that would be very irresponsible. No, he left the new agents in the capable hands of one Agent Kim Jungwoo. At the very least, the kids will be fed properly. He can’t quite guarantee them anything else.

Doyoung makes it to Taeyong’s office in record time, muscles aching from the intense workout he just got, while Yuta’s almost dozing off against him.

“Yuta,” Doyoung says, nudging his husband slightly. “Knock on the door for me, will you?”

Yuta nods against Doyoung’s shoulder and lifts a hand to rap against the white-painted door before them.

“Chief Director,” Doyoung calls. “It’s Agent Kim and Nakamoto. Permission to request a meeting with you, sir?”

There’s no response for a minute, before a faint sound of assent can be heard. “Yes!”

“Huh.” Yuta shrugs and clings to Doyoung a little tighter. “I didn’t think he’d agree so easily.”

“We’re all drunk and he caused this. He better agree easily.”

“Good point.”

“Open the door for me, please.”

“Sure thing, handsome.” Yuta stretches his arm out and Doyoung shuffles closer to the door so Yuta can wrap his hand around the handle and push it open. 

“Chief Director—” Doyoung says as they enter the room. “—excuse our appearance, but I have something I need to—JESUS CHRIST!”

Turns out, the permission to enter hadn’t been directed at them. Doyoung barely sees how Taeyong’s bent over his desk with Kun pressing up behind him when Yuta suddenly grabs a handful of his hair and maneuvers him back out the room like they’re in _Ratatouille_.

Once they’re both safely back outside, away from the ungodly sight of their bosses going at it in broad daylight, Yuta reaches forward and pulls the door shut before Doyoung can drop him. He doesn’t look as repulsed as Doyoung feels, but Doyoung knows his husband well enough to read the disgust in his quick, jerky movements.

“So…”

Doyoung throws his head back, almost slamming Yuta right in the nose. “Are you fucking _kidding me_?” he enunciates slowly. Deliberately. Like every second spent saying the words will somehow erase a second from the past two minutes of his life.

It doesn’t.

“There, there, handsome.” Yuta pats Doyoung on the head reassuringly as he turns on his heel and begins taking them back to the main office. “It’s nothing we all haven’t seen before.”

“I could’ve lived a perfectly good life, grown old with you, and died without ever seeing that again.”

“That’s sweet, but let’s just be glad it’s us and not our new kids.”

“Heavens forbid, but they’ll get their turn soon enough.”

That much, Doyoung’s absolutely sure of.

One cannot call themselves a full-fledged member of the NCT Seoul task force if they have not either lived through the infamous Taeyong-Kun spar or walked in on them fucking around somewhere. If they’re lucky, they almost die at the hands of stray knives and two grenades. If they’re unlucky, they get an eyeful of the two directors going at it like rabbits in heat at some obscure place that will never be touched again unless everything in it is autoclaved.

And if they’re veterans like Doyoung and Yuta, they’ve been through both. The scars run deep—mental and physical.

“Doyoungie-hyung, Yuta-hyung!” Jungwoo greets cheerfully once they reach the office. It’s honestly so easy to forget he’s nearly as intoxicated as everyone else. “How did the meeting go? You came back super quick!”

Doyoung looks Jungwoo dead in the eye. “There was no meeting.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Get us two jugs of bleach for our eyes and we’ll tell you why,” Yuta drawls, tapping Doyoung twice on the shoulder so he can be set down. “Did you order dessert? I need to eat away my trauma.”

“Ahhhhh.” Jungwoo nods, gesturing at the long table towards the back that’s laden with food. A couple other agents are sitting around it, each with their own plates and in varying levels of intoxication. “We have smoothies, chocolate brownies, and fresh seasonal fruit. They’re supposed to help. Please eat as much as you’d like.”

Yuta sighs happily. “I could kiss you right now.”

Jungwoo’s eyes widen in alarm at the same time Doyoung’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“Not that I would.” Yuta takes Doyoung’s hand in his and leads them to the food. “C’mon, let’s eat.”

“I don’t think I can right now.”

“Oh.” Yuta drops Doyoung’s hand and reaches for the nearest trash bin. “Here,” he says, depositing the almost-empty bin into Doyoung’s hands. “Yak into it if you need to. I’ll get you some water.”

“Thanks.” Doyoung does exactly as he’s told, bending over and dry-heaving into the bin as hard as he can. He’s not nauseous, but seeing Taeyong and Kun fucking is cause enough to trigger his gag reflex. 

Yuta returns with a bottle of water, and Doyoung takes it gratefully, downing half of it in one go.

“Agent Kim?”

Doyoung pauses in his guzzling. “Yes?”

Shotaro shifts slightly, holding an apple in one hand and his own bottle of water in another. “Are you alright, sir? You look pale.”

Poor, sweet, innocent child. He has no idea what havoc being in this agency will wreak upon him. Doyoung can understand why Ten was so violently against bringing in new agents at this time. They’re simply not ready to face the beast that is this workplace. And even if they are, NCT has ruined enough people already. 

“I’m fine.”

“Uhm...are you sure?”

“No.”

“Oh. What’s wrong? Would you like something to ease your stomach or some company?”

Doyoung’s not a very touchy person by any means, but at this moment all he wants to do is pull Shotaro into a tight hug and never let him go. He wants to hug the kid to smithereens and cry over how lovely he is. 

Oh god, he’s turning into Yuta.

“I’ll be alright, Shotaro. I honestly don’t think I can stomach much right now. But have you eaten?”

Shotaro nods. “Yes, sir. I had lunch shortly before you arrived with Agent Nakamoto.”

“Good.” Doyoung turns to the other agents gathered around the catering spread. “Word of advice for anyone willing to listen: do not go into the Chief Director’s office for the rest of the day.”

Donghyuck chokes on a sip of soup and nearly sprays Mark in the face with it. “What?” he sputters after coughing up the soup and half a lung. “They’re NOT.”

“They ARE.”

“Code pink, we have a code pink, people!” Chenle screams, jumping up from his seat and making a mad dash towards Jungwoo. “Hyung! Ring the alarms!”

“All you had to do was ask,” Jungwoo replies serenely, pulling out his trusty tablet and tapping a few times. “There, all done.”

For a moment, nothing happens. Doyoung lifts his eyes to the ceiling, checking the intercom devices to make sure it’s still working properly. Nothing seems out of place. The entire room is just steeped in silence, everyone waiting with bated breaths for something to happen.

Then, not even a couple seconds later, something _does_.

“ATTENTION ALL AGENTS,” a mechanical, somewhat-Taeil-sounding voice rings over the intercom. “CLEAR THE EAST WING OF THE FIFTH FLOOR. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. ATTENTION ALL AGENTS. CLEAR THE EAST WING OF THE FIFTH FLOOR. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”

Sungchan startles so hard he almost jumps. “What is that?”

“It’s our emergency code pink alarm,” Chenle shouts over the blaring voice. “Jaemin, Mark-hyung, and Director Moon worked to install it about three months ago. Pretty sweet, right?”

“I understand that part, but what is a code pink?”

Chenle’s mouth snaps closed and a vague look of disgust crosses over his face. His eyes shift to Jaemin, who shakes his head, then Mark, who looks ready to cry.

“To put it bluntly,” Doyoung says. “It’s to warn everyone to not go into the Chief Director’s office, because of inappropriate workplace behavior.”

Sungchan blinks in confusion. “I’m sorry, sir. I still don’t understand.”

“What type of inappropriate workplace behavior?” Shotaro asks.

“The chief and Director Qian are fucking,” Yuta supplies before Doyoung can elaborate. “They’re married and have no sense of public decency. Get it now, kiddos?”

“Got it,” Sungchan squeaks. Shotaro doesn’t even reply from where he stands, frozen and gripping onto his water bottle like it’s a lifeline.

“It’s true,” Mark says flatly. “We also call it the ‘cockblock bell’. So sometimes we’re quite literally ‘saved by the bell’.” He points up at the ceiling, towards the intercom. “See that little pink button by the speaker? That’s the activation button.”

Shotaro squints up towards where Mark is pointing. “But...why is it so small?”

Sungchan lifts a hand over his eyes like it’ll help him see closer. “And why is it on the ceiling?”

“A better question would be, why not?” Jungwoo says, sitting down elegantly in a rolling chair and tearing apart a bread roll. “It gives us an excuse to throw things up there.”

Jaehyun hums in agreement. “Right. Gotta let off steam somehow.”

“And we’ve got these little suckers by almost every intercom here. Because sometimes the directors get a little...adventurous.”

Shotaro and Sungchan look at each other, and Doyoung can almost feel the fear and regret exchanged within their glance. He’d feel the same, if he hadn’t already been submerged in this business for over a decade. 

“Things will get better. Eventually. It gets better the longer you work here,” he assures.

Mark blinks. “Uh, no it doesn’t.”

“No, you just get used to all the crazy shit that goes on around here.”

Jaemin raises a glass of smoothie in a salute. “Welcome to NCT.”

“Enjoy your stay,” Donghyuck adds.

“You’ll get used to it eventually.”

“Yeah. Even Jisung’s mostly unfazed at this point, and he’s a legit baby.”

“Hyung!”

“What?” Doyoung’s head snaps over to Jaemin, whose mouth is firmly clamped by Jisung’s large hand. “What did you just say? What about Jisung?”

Jisung keeps his hand firmly pressed against Jaemin’s mouth. “It’s nothing, hyung. Please don’t worry about—”

“No, tell me if I’m wrong,” Doyoung says sternly. “But from what I understand, you’ve also walked in on the directors?”

“I—”

“No lies.”

Jisung hangs his head in shame. “Yes, hyung. I have. You know this already.”

Oh. Doyoung might’ve heard it before, but he can’t remember things too clearly at the moment. All he knows is that Jisung is far too young to have suffered what he had. He’s definitely going to have a word with Taeyong about this, once his system is purged of the alcohol.

And after he’s done talking to Taeyong about traumatizing almost everybody working for him, he’s going to strangle him with his own tie.

Yes. That sounds like a decent plan.

Unless Taeyong has a choking kink. Then Doyoung will just have to start pulling blades out, because nowhere in his job description does it entail dealing with his bosses’ abnormally high sex drive. And in his defense, Taeyong’s put him through enough torture over the years to warrant being stabbed. Doyoung’s not exactly known for his patience, and he can’t help it if something just triggers him to snap and he goes apeshit. He’s also still very drunk and not of sound mind. So if anything happens he has more than enough excuses to justify his actions.

“You’re doing it again,” Yuta sing-songs, snapping Doyoung out of his thoughts. “Stop it. No smart ideas at work.”

“Caught red-handed,” Doyoung grumbles, not feeling guilty in the slightest. “Don’t worry about what I’m going to do and go eat your food.”

“I have. I’m waiting for you to eat something too. It’ll help you not hate yourself tomorrow morning.”

“I hate myself most mornings, anyways.”

“Yeah, but if you don’t eat something now, I’m disarming the entire apartment before you get to the destructive phase of self-hatred.” Yuta passes Doyoung a peeled orange. “C’mon, eat.”

Doyoung sees no further point in arguing with Yuta, so he eats the orange as the alarm gradually dies off, and he’s finally allowed to think in peace again. 

“Wait,” he says once his brain can fully analyze his surroundings. Almost all the functioning agents are here, and Taeil almost never shows up around the main office anyways, but some people are still missing. “Where’s Director Seo and the senior Agent Jung?”

Jungwoo points towards the ceiling. “Agent Jung took Director Seo to his office not too long ago. The director didn’t look too well. But from my calculations, Agent Jung should come down alone right about…” he lifts a hand and checks his watch. “...now."

As if on cue, the elevator dings and Jaehyun steps out. He’s not wearing a jacket or tie, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to the elbows. Heavy dark circles hang under his eyes, accentuating his eyebags, and his skin has a strange ashen tone.

“Woah.” Yuta whistles when Jaehyun approaches them. “You look like hell ate you up and shit you out. Twice. What happened?”

“Did Rio do this to you?” Doyoung asks. “Or was it because of Director Seo?”

“Both,” Jaehyun sighs, running a hand down his face. He looks at Doyoung and frowns. “What happened to your hair?”

Trust Jaehyun to be hyper-aware of even the smallest detail changes. Doyoung runs a hand through his ruffled hair and winces when his tender scalp throbs in protest. “Yuta pulled a Remy and marionette-ed me away from the Chief Director’s office.”

That sentence doesn’t make any sense, even to himself, but Jaehyun seems to understand it perfectly fine. “I heard the alarm. That makes what, the seventh, no, eighth time since it’s been installed?”

Doyoung counts back on his fingers and comes up a few times short. “Really? I must’ve missed a couple. I only remember four.”

Yuta nods. “I remember five.”

“Where were you?”

“In Canada, stealing back a fat fortune in diamonds. What’s your excuse?”

“Florida, almost getting eaten by crocodiles and feeding my targets to them.”

“Oh, right.”

Sungchan’s eyebrows disappear into his bangs. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but what kinds of missions were you both involved in?”

Yuta laughs. Doyoung has the urge to do the same, because within the grand scheme of things, those two missions are easily some of the least dramatic that they’ve been on. If Sungchan wants to see crazy, Doyoung can easily show him crazy. All it takes is a visit to the Hall of Infamy. He can almost guarantee that Sungchan and Shotaro will shit their pants at the memorabilia of the pure crackfests that were many of the agency’s missions over the years.

“Oh, you haven’t seen shit yet, kid.”

“But you will.”

Doyoung’s eyes are grave as they land on the nervous juniors. The same look is reflected through Jaehyun’s exhaustion, the younger agents’ mischief, the technicians’ amusement, and Mark’s muted anxiety.

Because everyone already knows the inevitable.


	7. Chapter 7

Taeyong knows that Shotaro and Sungchan have fully acclimated to work within NCT when the two agents show up bright and early one lovely afternoon, carrying a long branch between them. On that branch is a man, wearing a full golf uniform and strung up by his hands and ankles like a lamb ready to be roasted. His eyes are blindfolded and mouth sealed shut with a generous amount of duct tape, and what’s visible of his body is riddled with bruises and searing red welts.

“Good morning, sir!” Shotaro greets, doing his best to bow without dropping the branch. “We have returned from our mission!”

“I can see that,” Taeyong says slowly, eyeing the unfamiliar man the two juniors are holding. This entire scene somehow feels off. Taeyong honestly believes he’d sooner see Donghyuck and Jaemin pulling off something like this instead. “So, who’s our guest?”

“A hitman hired to murder us while we were on assignment,” Shotaro explains with a sweet smile. “We tracked him down after calculating the angle from which he tried to shoot at us. Twice.”

“Uh-huh, and how did you both manage to capture him and bring him all the way back here?”

“Well, sir, we didn’t really have the proper technology to capture and sedate him since we were on a golf course and all, so we had to improvise.” Sungchan raises a bloody seven iron proudly, like the golf club is some sort of grand trophy. “I hope you don’t plan on reusing this one, sir. It’s a bit bent.”

Taeyong has a bad, sinking feeling in his gut, and he doesn’t like it. “Is that one of our disguised golf club rifles?”

Sungchan blinks, looking genuinely confused. “Golf club rifles? What rifles? No sir, this is just a regular old seven iron.”

A regular old seven iron. Taeyong can’t believe this. All those years and money spent for their technicians to develop ingenious ways to conceal their agents’ weapons, and Sungchan had taken a literal golf club and bludgeoned the poor bastard the old-fashioned way. And from the looks of it, he had a ball whacking the man into the next dimension over. Taeyong honestly doesn’t know whether that’s more impressive or concerning.

“How did you two carry him from the course all the way here without having law enforcement called on you?”

Shotaro grins. “I called for the chopper. Nobody really thought too much of it because we were under the guise of rich heirs and all. The hitman wasn’t tied when we brought him on board. He was just knocked out and stuffed into a duffel bag.”

“A duffel bag.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How did you get him into the bag?”

Shotaro shifts his gaze to the man and bites his lip sheepishly. “Uh...we might have broken a couple limbs folding him in there.”

“A couple limbs,” Taeyong deadpans. “He’s only got four.”

“In that case, we might’ve broken all of them.”

“But in our defense, he’s taller than me and we only got a medium duffel bag,” Sungchan says. “Time was running out. Some things had to give.”

Taeyong is now positive these two have been spending too much time with Donghyuck and Jaemin. “So...why the branch?”

“For theatrics.”

Sungchan nods. “And because, well, we thought Chenle and Jaemin-hyung might get a good laugh out of it once we bring him to the interrogation room for some questions.”

For some odd reason—call it intuition, a gut feeling, or well-honed senses—Taeyong just knows that the interrogation room the juniors spoke of isn’t the actual interrogation room they have a floor above. He’s almost a hundred percent certain that they plan on taking the man to the torture exhibit in the labs so he can be the technician’s next weapons and gadgets dummy.

And knowing Chenle and Jaemin as well as their notorious sadistic streak, that man would be much better off dead. Those kids have less respect for enemy lives than war criminals from the first and second World Wars combined.

' _What is wrong with this generation?’_ Taeyong wonders as Shotaro and Sungchan lug the man’s unconscious body towards the staircase. _‘These kids are completely unhinged.’_

They’ve really done it now. They’ve gone and taken two gentle, innocent boys and turned them into monsters. In less than a month, no less. Taeyong thinks he really should start planning his escape routes before Doyoung and Yuta get wind of what’s happened. Well, Yuta might not care that much. In fact, he’ll probably find the whole thing hilarious. Doyoung, however, will skin Taeyong alive when he finds out what happened to his kids. He’ll hang Taeyong by the balls and skin him alive, titles and positions be damned.

Taeyong pulls out his phone and dials his husband’s number, and Kun picks up on the second ring.

_“Yes?”_

“Listen, if you don’t hear from me for the next two days, it’s because Doyoung has murdered me and disposed of my body. I hope you still have the funeral plans ready and laid out.”

Kun makes a confused noise. _“What? What are you talking about?”_

“Shotaro and Sungchan returned from their mission with a hostage. They beat the crap out of the guy with golf clubs and are going to torture him with the technicians.”

 _“That sounds fun,”_ Kun says calmly. _“Yangyang would definitely enjoy that. It’s a shame he’s on assignment with Yukhei right now.”_

“Kun, I’m serious!” Taeyong hisses. “We’ve ruined those boys and Doyoung will kill me! Kill me!”

_“If I couldn’t kill you, I doubt he’ll be any more successful, Taeyong. You need to relax.”_

Taeyong scoffs and makes his way angrily to his office. “Yeah, you can tell me to relax, because you’re sat in a whole other country and not about to face Doyoung’s wrath any minute now.”

_“If it makes you feel any better, I do have the funeral arrangements laid out and ready to be initiated.”_

“Oh, I hate you.”

_“I love you too, baobei. Now, pull yourself together and face your agent head-on like how you should. I have to go now. Good luck.”_

“Kun, I—” The line goes dead, and Taeyong almost throws his phone through the window in his fury. “Fuck. Oh god, I’m fucked. This is bad. This is very bad.”

“What is bad?”

“Fucking hell!” Taeyong whips around and nearly collapses when he sees Taeil standing there, holding a mug of coffee and looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Hyung, don’t _do_ that, damn it!”

“Your door wasn’t shut properly, and I could hear you yelling from two hallways down.” Taeil takes a long sip of his coffee and eyes Taeyong with all the aura of a lion about to tear into its prey. “What seems to be the trouble?”

Taeyong heaves a sigh and throws up his hands. “Have you seen Shotaro and Sungchan when they came in earlier?”

“I noticed it, yes.” A small smile breaks over Taeil’s lips, and it’s the one Taeyong has come to recognize as his ‘see-no-evil’ smile. “It was quite amusing.”

“Hyung, those kids beat a man to near-death with a golf club when they caught him trying to kill them.”

Taeil tsks in mock disappointment as he takes another sip from his mug. “Taeyong-ah, you say that like you wouldn’t have done the same ten years ago.”

Taeyong reigns in his temper before it can land him in trouble with Taeil also. “Hyung, I would’ve at least put the man out of his misery. Those kids are taking him to the torture chamber.”

“We paid for that torture chamber. I don’t see why the young agents and technicians should be prohibited from using it when they see fit. Who knows? They might even extract some useful information from the man as to his superiors and what they know about us.”

“Listen to yourself!” Taeyong exclaims, voice raising an entire octave in his distress. “These are the same kids we confiscate laser blades from and have to keep under constant surveillance in case they start cooking cocaine for fun!”

Taeil chuckles. “Small incidents compared to someone trying to assassinate our agents, wouldn’t you say?”

Taeyong shuts up then, because yes, torturing a hitman hired to kill his agents is better than having two dead agents. If either Shotaro or Sungchan were even remotely injured and Taeyong has anything to do with their safety—which he unfortunately does—Doyoung will launch a bazooka straight into his face. Taeyong knows Doyoung’s proficiency with all types of weaponry. Even if he doesn’t resort to some higher-grade weapons, Doyoung can still have Taeyong dead by the end of the day using nothing but a pen cap and maybe a comb.

He can try to explain his way out of the situation if it comes down to it, but then he’ll need Yuta, Taeil, Jungwoo, and pretty much all the other senior agents available to accompany him. That way, at least someone can try to hold Doyoung back when he discovers just how much his precious mentees/children have been corrupted. Taeyong’s dignity will be dragged through the mud and shat on, but he just might get out of that confrontation alive.

_Might._

Taeyong considers calling Ten and Sicheng and having them talk down Doyoung from his homicidal urges, but given what hell Taeyong has put the two agents through, he doubts they’ll be willing to help him. He’s proven right when he calls, and is greeted by one tired, sharp, _“What do you want?”_

The tone of Ten’s voice startles Taeyong. He’s never heard the Thai agent sound so distraught while sober before. “Agent Ten, it’s Chief Director Lee.”

Ten lets out a little gasp. _“Oh, excuse me, chief. My manners. It's been a long day, so please forgive me. I meant to say: what the fuck do you want, sir?”_

Taeyong winces. “Would you by any chance be willing to talk down Agent Kim?”

_“Which one?”_

“Doyoung.”

_“Who’d he kill?”_

“Well, nobody yet, but he’s going to kill someone very soon.”

Ten bites into something and the crunch it creates makes Taeyong’s skin crawl. _“Who’s it gonna be?”_

“Me.”

 _“Oh. Good luck, then.”_ And then he hangs up.

Yep, Ten is definitely still mad. And knowing Sicheng, he’s only going to be worse. Though, Taeyong can’t say he doesn’t deserve it. He and Kun had been a little unfair in making him and Sicheng help plan out their wedding anniversary as a favor. Still, it stings a bit to know that someone he’s worked with for almost a decade will just leave him to grovel at Doyoung’s mercy.

If he even has any, considering what Shotaro and Sungchan had done.

Taeyong turns to Taeil and hopes his puppy-dog eyes are still effective. “Hyung, can I request a favor?”

Taeil closes his eye and rummages in his pocket before pulling out his foldable cane. He snaps it open and gestures for Taeyong to continue. “Let’s hear it on even grounds, shall we?”

“Not fair,” Taeyong grumbles under his breath. Of course Taeil will pull the blind card on him, that traitor. “Can you make sure Doyoung doesn’t find out about what Shotaro and Sungchan have done?”

“That would be withholding information.”

“Please. My life is at risk. Can’t you edit the video footage from their mission before he reviews it later?”

“That would be compromising information.”

“Can you at least tell him that Shotaro and Sungchan didn’t do anything worth special review?”

“That would be falsifying information.”

“Hyung!”

“You are Chief Director,” Taeil says in that infuriatingly calm way of his. “You should be able to handle your own agents, Doyoung included. A small matter such as this shouldn’t warrant me going against the law. The only way to save your ass is to do it yourself.” He turns and maneuvers his way to the door expertly. “I believe my business here is done. Have a good rest of your day.”

“I hate you.”

Taeil lifts his mug in a salute as his other hand pulls open the door. “Cheers, Taeyong.”

Useless. Everyone around Taeyong is absolutely fucking useless. Why does he even bother anymore? Kun is too far away to do anything in the given span of time, Taeil simply doesn’t care, and Ten would love nothing more than to see Taeyong’s world burn to the ground. Hell, he might even bring marshmallows and roast them over the fiery pit of Taeyong’s corpse. 

Fuck it. He might as well roll the dice and take his chances with Doyoung finding out the truth. At most, he has a couple hours to prepare himself to either beg for mercy or fight for his life. At the very least, knowing Doyoung, he can try to explain how Shotaro and Sungchan’s method of conduct isn’t exactly his fault. And to be fair, neither of the boys are hurt. That’s all that matters to Doyoung at the end of the day.

But just to be safe, Taeyong arms himself with three knives and an expandable staff, because something tells him that he might not go home in one piece tonight.

* * *

“Gentlemen.” Johnny laces his hands on the table and glares—not look, not glance, but full-on glares—at Taeyong and Doyoung, both seated on opposite ends of the table. Neither men are visibly injured, but Doyoung’s eyes gleam with murderous intent and Taeyong looks like he’s calculating a hundred and two different escape scenarios in his head. “We have something important to discuss.”

“Here we go again,” Mark groans, already sliding down his seat and trying to disappear underneath the table.

Johnny turns his gaze to Mark, and he doesn’t look amused. “Sit up straight, Mark.”

Mark immediately rights his posture. “Yes, sir.”

Under any other circumstances, Johnny probably wouldn’t be so strict with his cousin, but the circumstances called for it. Too much has been going on lately, and somebody has to put their foot down. Johnny sighs and turns back at the agents and directors sitting around the table. “Now, our agenda for today. What is this I’m hearing about the Chief Director and Agent Kim getting into a physical altercation?”

“Director Seo,” Doyoung says, voice steely calm. “The junior agents Jung and Osaki came into the office holding a man like a roast pig. Now, what is wrong with that picture?”

From the far end of the table, both Shotaro and Sungchan hang their heads in shame.

Johnny rubs at his temples. “Worse has happened at NCT Seoul headquarters, Agent Kim. What’s your point?”

“I don’t so much mind them bringing in a man to be butchered, that’s not what I care about,” Doyoung elaborates. “But my concern is the sheer quickness in which their behavior deteriorated to such savage conditions. Not even a month in. A month!”

“It was bound to happen, and you know it!” Taeyong protests. “Try as I may, Agent Kim, not everyone here be kept pure and innocent! Not in this business.”

Doyoung shifts in his seat, and on either side of him, Yuta and Mark immediately grab onto his wrists. “Well, try harder.”

“I can’t control how unhinged our agents are or become!”

“And you’re a fair example for the pack to follow, isn’t that right?”

Ten snorts into his fist and Kun shoots him a dirty glare. Sicheng’s amusement is slightly more veiled, a thin smile gracing his lips as he watches the tension in the room escalate to a near-palpable state.

“Agent Kim,” Taeyong says, voice dropping into the low, authoritative tone he uses on serious business. “You would do well to remember your position here.”

Doyoung’s eyes narrow into knife-edged slits, and now even Shotaro and Sungchan look ready to bolt from their seats to restrain their mentor. “Chief Director, I mean you no offense, sir, but I speak the truth. How many lives, how many mentalities here have been warped under the conditions you put us under? Mark is on anti-anxiety medication around the clock and Jisung is scared to enter the training dome standing up straight because he keeps thinking he'll get a knife through the head! Are those normal behaviors to you?”

“Hey, hey,” Yuta cuts in, rubbing gentle circles along Doyoung’s forearm. “Slow down. Take it easy.”

Mark nods frantically. “Please, hyung. Please calm down.”

Doyoung takes in a breath and lets it out slowly. He doesn’t look any calmer. “You’ve ruined my kids.”

“Agent Kim,” Johnny sighs. “Agents Jung and Osaki are not your children.”

Yuta’s head snaps up at the comment, but it’s Doyoung who speaks first. “Right. Of course they’re not, Director Seo. Just like how Agent Mark Lee here is not _your_ child. And how Agents Liu and Wong aren’t Kun’s children, either.”

A collective gasp echoes throughout the room. Mark looks shell-shocked, face slack and eyes open wide. Kun and Taeyong exchange matching glances of concern. Johnny’s expression is a weird mix between fury and speechlessness. Shotaro and Sungchan look utterly confused.

“I’ve made my point.” Doyoung leans back in his seat. “Make of it what you will.”

“I understand that you’re...protective over the junior agents,” Johnny manages after a long beat of silence. “But fighting won’t solve anything. Haven’t we all learned that from almost dying together once?”

“Yes. At the time, however, I just didn’t particularly care. You almost die once, you almost die a thousand times.”

Johnny drops his head straight down onto the table. “Oh god, oh god, oh god…”

“Well, from what I can see, this blame game has an easy fix,” Jungwoo pipes up from his position by Taeyong. “Why don’t we all just accept that fact that working here will mess you up beyond repair, go get a couple drinks, and move on with our lives?”

Johnny lets out something that sounds alarmingly like a sob. “That might’ve been the most intelligent thing anyone’s said this entire evening.”

“You know where the bar is,” Taeil says, not having looked up from the files he’s reading the entire time. “Help yourselves.”

Ten throws his hands towards the ceiling as he pops off his seat. “Hallelujah.”

Taeyong looks over at the senior director. “But Director Moon—”

“Listen, I’m over the petty arguments and fights this entire agency has bred,” Taeil says, finally raising his eye from the papers in his hands to glance around the room. Everyone freezes as that one sharp, dark eye glosses over them. “And frankly speaking, the only thing that results is a bad reputation on your end and a headache on mine. Now, either we all go get drunk and be one big happy family again, or you get the hell out before I take one of Johnny’s guns and shoot you.”

“Yes, sir,” the entire room answers as one.

Taeil nods in approval. “Good. Now let’s get wasted so we can all forget the stupidity of this entire day by tomorrow morning.”

* * *

"Oh," Chenle grins when Shotaro and Sungchan stumbles into the labs the following morning, looking gray. "Looks like somebody has now graduated from another level of becoming a full-fledged agent."

"Not so loud, please," Shotaro whimpers, holding his aching skull in his hands. "Is there water nearby?"

"Water, milk, whatever you want," Chenle replies, pointing to a table laden with breakfast foods and drinks by the entrance of the lab. "It's pancake day. Help yourselves."

"Thanks."

"What happened to you two, by the way?" Jaemin asks from where he's flipping pancakes on the electric griddle. "You both look like Mark-hyung after he almost gets killed. Again."

"Hangover," Sungchan replies, pouring himself a cup of orange juice and Shotaro a glass of water. "We were called to a meeting with the directors and senior agents. It didn't go so well."

A knowing grin spreads over Jaemin's face. "Lemme guess, Director Moon just made everyone drink together and you two were pulled in."

"That's exactly what happened."

"How did you know?"

Jaemin shrugs. "We've all been through it at least once. When shit goes down, the best way to fix things is just to get so fucking plastered you forget what you were even fighting over in the first place."

Shotaro frowns. "I'm pretty sure that's not how it works."

"The world is a large and wonderful place," Jaemin says wisely. "There's many facets to solving our problems that can combine to form a multitude of solutions. Some are more conventional, and some just work better."

"Please don't talk math to us right now," Sungchan groans as he nurses his juice. "I don't think I can even understand Korean properly."

"I can speak English, if you want. Or French. Or Chinese. Wait, hold on." Jaemin leans past Sungchan's frame and shouts over to Chenle, "Lele! How many languages do you speak?"

"Chinese, Korean, English, Spanish, and a bit of Japanese," Chenle yells back. Both Sungchan and Shotaro wince at the volume. "Why?"

"I think Taro and Bambi here might need an explanation on how group bonding exercises here—"

"No, we really don't," Sungchan interrupts before Jaemin can finish. Shotaro nods gingerly. "Please. Just let us suffer in peace."

Jaemin hums and returns to his pancake-flipping. "Suit yourselves. It's part of the process. I can't wait to see what hell you two will raise in a year."

"We've been keeping notes," Chenle adds. "It's even alphabetized."

"And there's always space in the Hall of Infamy."

"Uh..." Shotaro and Sungchan exchange an uneasy glance. "I think...we might be in there already."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for sticking thru this wild ride, but here we are!!  
> It's finally finished in a fresh new year, and I can only hope this year will treat us all better than the last one did. I'm literally so grateful you all enjoy this series and its pure insanity, and I'm honestly so happy that it can bring you some joy in these honestly shitty times.  
> Stay safe, stay healthy, and rmbr to take care of yourselves and your loved ones!  
> Until next time! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the madhouse (^v^)
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/Cydersyrup)  
> [twt](https://twitter.com/Cydersyrup)


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